Nave

On first stepping across the threshold of one of Britain’s great cathedral naves, most people would probably attest to an immediate sense of being somewhere beyond or outside daily life in a way that seems unique to these buildings. Setting aside for the moment the visitor’s sensitivity to the building’s composite history and religious purpose, first impressions are likely to be primarily sensory: a bodily response to the distinctive atmosphere, the vastness of the chamber, its sonorous acoustics and mitigated quality of light. As Alexander Nagel recently observed, acoustic, kinetic and olfactory factors do not merely add to our visual experience of such spaces; they cannot be separated from it (2012: 161). Crossing the threshold not only invokes a passage from the secular world to the sacred (a movement whose potency still resonates despite the increasing secularisation and touristification of these spaces), it also marks several palpable shifts: of speed, duration, temperature, atmosphere, signification, sound, light and so on. Probably the best word to describe this switching of registers is ‘reverence’, although to whom or what this is directed is not entirely clear. Such spaces produce a sense of dislocation as if, in Couturier’s words, ‘one enters into another world’ (Langdon 1988: 550). The visitor slows to a respectful stroll, voice lowered, the gaze turned uncharacteristically upwards. Perhaps he has chanced upon a time when he has the cathedral almost to himself, a not uncommon experience in certain provincial cathedrals usually denied to metropolitan sites, but more often than not, he is aware of the proximity of other people. From the hushed sibilance of their voices and the slow but distinct pace of their footsteps, his attention is drawn to the uniquely aural qualities of this building. Indeed, it may be that the first impression one has of a cathedral interior is an awareness of its distinct acoustics. In such spaces every sound is captured, registered, amplified and lifted into the general atmosphere. But cathedrals are also places of visual experience. Walking through the space, we see statues, shrines, tombs, banks of candles, tattered and musty military flags, stained glass windows, faded tapestries and dimly illuminated altarpieces, all adding to the ecclesiastical ambience. Somewhere amidst all of this is a piece of contemporary art, invited into the cathedral through the chaplaincy’s desire to use the plastic arts to enhance religious experience and promote a progressive attitude towards the art and

culture of its time. The artwork in question may be monumental, a very present visual presence within the space. It may be quieter, more intimate and isolated from the main body of the building. It may be a single work or a series of works ranged throughout the building. In each case the art is a part of the life of its respective cathedral host, even if, in most cases, temporarily so. It provides an encounter with art that some enjoy, some deride and others try to ignore. But once it has outlived its tenure, the quotidian life of the cathedral will seep back into the spaces it has occupied.